Gotham Arise
by Bellerophone
Summary: With Bruce Wayne dead, it's up to the ones who once stood in his shadow to take up his torch. Preboot Batman Reborn-era AU in which Bruce really did die during the events of Final Crisis. Crossposted from gothamarise dot tumblr dot com.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

_Beneath Wayne Manor, the Batcave:_

The Batcomputer chair was huge. Barbara kept slipping out of it.

She didn't like sitting in this chair. But it was bolted to the floor in front of the computer. And Barbara wasn't about to take down Bruce's chair. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

"Barbara! Hey! Are you there?"

Barbara blinked. Then she reached across the keyboard to the Batphone monitor—it was almost out of her reach, damn Bruce and his long arms—and flipped the purple switch.

"Aren't you supposed to be in class, Stephanie?"

The sound of Stephanie Brown's amused snort blared from the Batcomputer speakers. "It's five pm, Babs. I just got out."

"Is it really?"

"Yeah really. I just wanted to see how B and R's car chase thingie went last night. You know, the one you wouldn't let me help out on because I had a test in your class today that you didn't even show up for so I didn't really have to take because it's not like you wouldn't have let me make it up some other time because Batgirls gotta stick together—"

"Keep your voice down with the Bat-stuff, Stephanie." Barbara sighed and straightened her glasses. "Car chase led to a plane chase, which led into a drug bust which sent them out to the suburbs. They should be getting back—" the sound of the Batcave door opening suddenly echoed through the cave— "Now, actually."

"Wow," said Stephanie as the Batmobile emerged from the dark tunnel and pulled up to its spot at the center of the cave. "Busy day, huh? All I did today was fall asleep in French. Hey guys!"

Barbara looked over her shoulder in time to see Dick and Damian vault from the Batmobile.

"Hi, Stephanie," said Dick, pushing back his cowl.

"Brown," acknowledged Damian, pulling up his hood.

"You heard anything from Tim?" Dick asked Barbara. The computer screens cast his face in a pale glow as he walked into their light. Behind him Damian slipped away into the shadows.

"Not even a text," said Barbara, turning back to her screen. "Have you?"

"Nothing."

"Maybe he's on to something."

Dick reached over Barbara's shoulder and poked at the stuffed Nightwing and Batgirl dolls sitting on one of the Batcomputer monitors. "If he is, I better get your crap out of the cave ASAP."

Stephanie's voice cut in: "What are you guys talking about?"

Barbara chuckled. "It is all mine, isn't it?"

"Yep. I just come here for the cars." His footsteps echoed through the Batcave as he paced away from Barbara's chair.

She took off her headset and spun the chair around to look at him. "You going to miss it, Once and Future Boy Wonder?"

Dick smiled and shook his head. "I was just thinking...that I might actually miss living with Damian."

"You know I can hear you, right?" Damian's voice echoed through the cave from an upper level, where he sat with his feet over the edge sharpening a sword.

Dick threw his head back to look up at him. "I know you can, Damian."

"Well—" Damian began, and then faltered.

"Aw, you confused him," Barbara said under her breath.

"Guys, I feel like I'm missing something," Stephanie said plaintively.

"Hold that thought, Steph," said Barbara. "Call coming in from the Watchtower." She tapped a button on her keyboard as Dick came to stand behind her chair. "Watchtower, this is Oracle at the Batcave."

Superman appeared on Barbara's main monitor. He wasn't smiling.

"I'm so sorry, you all," he said gravely, a catch in his deep voice.

Dick's hand fell to Barbara's shoulder and squeezed.

"Sorry about what, Superman?" said Barbara. Her voice sounded harsh and stiff in her ears.

Superman's miserable frown deepened. "Is Tim not back yet?"

"No," she snapped. "We didn't even know he was with you."

Dick dropped his other hand to Barbara's other shoulder. His grip was painful, but his voice was level as he said, "What happened, Clark?"

Superman dropped his chin, pressed a hand to his forehead. "Tim was right—Tim was right about everything. We found Bruce in the past. But when we tried to pull him back, the Omega radiation interference from Vandal Savage's bomb was too strong. Captain Atom, Flash, the Lanterns—they all tried their best. But—"

Superman fell silent as the sound of a revving motor echoed through the Batcave. From the tunnel entrance a motorbike appeared, bright red in the darkness. The bike stopped near the edge of the cave, well away from the Batmobile, and the rider lowered the kickstand and slowly dismounted.

"Is that Tim?" said Stephanie, her voice hushed and crackled over the speaker. "Is that—"

Tim removed his helmet, then pushed back his Red Robin cowl. He half-turned, and his eyes—red-rimmed and overbright—met Dick's across the cave, then flicked to a spot above Dick's head. At Damian.

Then Tim dropped his gaze and turned away.

Clark's deep sigh trembled through the computer speakers. "I'm so sorry."

Dick turned back to the screen as Tim disappeared in the cave's shadows. Above them, Damian had silently left as well. Dick's hand gripped Barbara's shoulder even harder.

"Clark," he said. "…Thanks. Thanks for telling us. I want to know more about—how it happened. But right now—"

"Of course," said Clark. "They need you." Superman took a step back from the monitor, a tic working in his chiseled jaw as he struggled to compose himself. "I'll be here, Dick."

"Thanks." Dick reached down and turned off the monitor. "Stephanie, are you still there?"  
"Yes," said Stephanie softly. "Should I not be?"

"No. I'm glad. But we're going to have to hang up now."  
"Right. Of course."

"I'll message you later, Steph," said Barbara.

"'Kay. And someone's gotta tell Cass—"

"We will," said Barbara.

"Kay. Bye...I mean... Okay, bye." There was a click, and the line went dead.

The cave was quiet. Dick and Barbara were the only ones left.

They looked at each other.

"What are we going to do now?"

...

_Crossposted from gothamarise dot tumblr dot com._


	2. Chapter 1: The Last Goodbye

**Gotham Arise #1  
The Torch part 1: The Last Goodbye**

Characters: Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon, Cassandra Cain  
Fandom: reboot DCU with a twist  
Rating: T

_One week later:_

The car slowed, then came gently to a stop just outside Gotham City Park.

"We're here, Master Richard."

In the passenger seat, Dick raised his head from his hands.

"Please come, Alfred."

Alfred Pennyworth's old, gnarled hands tightened on the steering wheel. "I do not think that would be wise," he said softly.

"Alfred, If anyone deserves to be at Bruce's reception it's you."

"My dear boy, Gotham doesn't need Bruce Wayne's butler. They need his children. They need you."

Dick shook his head.

Alfred reached out a gnarled hand and raised Dick's chin. His eyes were dark and deep-set in his wrinkled face, but even still they twinkled as a small smile crossed Alfred's face.

"Consider it a favor for a tired old man who wishes to grieve in peace."

Dick looked at him. Then he leaned over and kissed Alfred's cheek. "I'm going in alone, then."

When he pulled his head back he was sure he saw a tear in the stiff old man's gray eyes. But then Alfred blinked and it was gone. "Thank you, dear boy. But remember, you are not alone, Richard. Never forget that."

Dick nodded. Then he clapped Alfred on the shoulder, turned in the seat, and opened the car door.

Gotham City Park was a beautiful four-block green in downtown Gotham, not far from Wayne Towers. Bruce Wayne had commissioned it, and paid for its upkeep and security from his own pocket. Like everywhere else in Gotham, the park got ugly at night—drug dealers and gang members liked to loiter in the shade of its trees and fountains—but unlike the rest of Gotham, the park cleaned up pretty well during the day.

As Nightwing, Dick Grayson had knocked a lot of heads in this park.

Dick couldn't remember if he'd ever visited it as himself.

A crowd of people wearing black in various states of finery and clutching smartphones stood outside the wrought-iron entrance to the park. As soon as Dick's feet hit the sidewalk they all converged on him.

"Mr. Grayson, I'm so sorry for your loss. Do you have time to answer some questions?"

"Richard, the Gothamizer sends you our condolences. What will you do now?"

"How did Mr. Wayne die, Dick?"

"Are you head of Wayne Enterprises now, Mr. Grayson?"

"Thanks for coming," Dick said over them, raising his hands. "I know Bruce would be touched. And no, no one in their right mind wants me running Wayne Enterprises, including me."

"Who will inherit Wayne Enterprises then? Tim Drake-Wayne or Damian Wayne?"

Dick raked his hand through his hair. "I, uh, don't think it works that way."

"Is it true Tim and Damian hate each other?" someone from the back called.

Dick craned his head. "Where'd you hear that?"

"So it's true?"

"Tim and Damian are brothers. Brothers fight sometimes."

"Mr. Grayson," said a reporter near the front, "where is Damian Wayne? He hasn't arrived yet."

"Yeah, he wanted to come on his own. He should be here soon."

"And he just gets to do whatever he wants?"

"Well, I'm his legal guardian as stipulated by Bruce's will. So I do have some say."

"So you're his foster father?"

"I wouldn't call myself that. Neither would he. Big brother is fine."

"As his big brother, do you stand to inherit more of the Wayne family name than he does?"

"You're talking like it's some sort of kingdom," Dick laughed. He tugged at his tie. "Look, Bruce was my family, and he did technically adopt me, but I'm not a Wayne, not in the way people think being a Wayne means. I don't get involved in the company."

"Does your refusal to associate with the Wayne legacy have anything to do with the reported fight you had with Bruce several years ago?"

"How the he—"

"Dick!"

A redheaded woman in a black dress and jacket pressed her way through the crowd. "There you are!" said Vicki Vale. "Lucius is looking for you." She gave a disdainful look around her. "Are the paparazzi bothering you again, Dick?"

Before Dick could respond, Vicki seized his arm. "Sorry, folks," she said over her shoulder as she marched Dick through them to the park gates. "You'll just have to repost from the Gotham Gazette, like you always do."

"Woah." Dick raised an eyebrow at Vicki. "Not that I'm not grateful, but wasn't that a bit harsh?"

"Maybe." Vicki's face was unapologetic.

Gotham City Park was full of people in formal black, some milling about and talking in hushed voices, some already sitting in folding chairs arranged around a black-clothed podium emblazoned with a white 'W.' Dick saw the members of the Wayne Enterprises board among the crowd, and most of the upper-level presidents, as well as reporters from the Gotham Gazette, the Metropolis Daily Planet, and several other news outlets more reputable than those that had accosted him outside the gates.

None of Dick's friends were there. The superhero community had done their mourning for Batman, and the Wayne family had had their private funeral just days ago. This reception was for Gotham, and the Bruce Wayne the city thought it knew.

Dick saw Barbara and her father near the fountain at the center of the park. He patted the hand that Vicki still had securely wrapped around his arm. "Thanks for coming, Vicki. I know Bruce meant a lot to you too."

"Of course I came, Dick. Of course." Vicki's voice had suddenly gone hoarse. She cleared her throat. "Can you believe my editor wanted me to go to the Joker Bill hearings today instead? I had to take the day off."  
"The Joker what?"

"Haven't you heard? The bill that would permit the death penalty for serial mass murderers."

"They're calling it the Joker Bill?"

"He's kind of the only one who qualifies," Vicki said, with a grim twist of her mouth.

"And this is being debated—oof!"

Strong, slender arms suddenly wrapped around Dick's middle and squeezed. "Hi," said a soft voice in his ear.

"Hey, Cass."

Cassandra Cain released him and surveyed him with grave eyes. "Tim and Damian aren't here yet."

"Really? I thought Tim would be here already."

"He got held up with some WayneTech work," said Barbara, rolling up in her wheelchair. "He's coming in Damian's car."

"Oh." Dick shot a look at Vicki, who was still standing by looking more than a bit interested. "_Oh_."

Vicki squeezed Dick's arm one more time, then let go. "I'm intruding. I'm so sorry. I'll let you be with your family. Please excuse me, Dick. Miss Cain. Miss Gordon."

"Miss Vale," said Barbara coolly. Her expression darkened as Vicki passed by her and vanished into the black-clad crowd. "Dick, if she hasn't bugged you I'll eat my glasses."

"The thought had crossed my mind," Dick said dryly. "Regardless, I have to know: are Tim and Damian still alive?"

"As far as I know," Barbara smirked. "Tim didn't sound happy when he called me twenty minutes ago."

Dick raked his hand through his hair. "Tim was supposed to do the opening remarks."

"Is that why Lucius Fox is making a beeline for you right now?" said Barbara, nodding over Dick's shoulder.

Dick turned just as a gentle hand landed on his shoulder.

"Mr. Grayson," said Lucius Fox, CEO of Wayne Enterprises. "Do you have a moment?"

Lucius was flanked by three of the Wayne Enterprises board members, William Earle, Benjamin Coleman, and Danica Zhao. All four of them wore black suits and grave expressions.

"If this is about Tim, he's still on his way," said Dick.

"Of course. It's just that he was supposed to give the opening remarks ten minutes ago."

"Couldn't we wait a few more minutes?"

"Actually, I think it would be best if you did it, Richard," said Lucius, not unkindly.

"Please, Richard," said Danica Zhao. "You knew Bruce best of anyone here. I'm sure you can think of something to say."

"Yes, but—" How to explain that he'd already eulogized Bruce so many times—both when he'd first 'died' six months ago, and in the week since he'd died again?

"All right," said Dick. "I'll do it."

"Thank you, Richard," said William Earle. He smiled and clapped Dick heartily on the shoulder. "We know how hard this is for you, son."

"Just speak from the heart," said Lucius, looking at him sympathetically. "You don't have to say much."

Now Barbara and Cassandra were giving him concerned looks. Dick tried to compose his face into a Bruce-like stoicism. "I can do that, Lucius."

Benjamin Coleman cleared his throat. "But you might wish to address the nature of Mr. Wayne's death. The press has been on our case about it."

"Sure. You want me to do it now?"

"Please."

So it was that within a minute Dick found himself behind the black-draped podium, saying "Thank you all for coming." Dick cleared his throat. _Come on, Grayson. One last goodbye, then Bruce gets to rest in peace. Do it for the boss, Robin._

"Bruce was a part of all of our lives—personally, professionally, or, more likely, some combination of the two. All of us cared deeply about him. That makes losing him that much harder, especially in this sudden way.

"You may have noticed that over the past six or so months Bruce was acting…strange. Well, stranger than usual." Dick smiled, and a few in the audience, including Cassandra, smiled back. "The truth is, Bruce's sudden passing—wasn't all that sudden. Bruce learned six months ago that he was dying."

A murmur spread through the crowd. Near the front, Dick saw Vicki Vale's mouth fall open in shock.

"Everyone copes with death differently," Dick continued. "Bruce always believed in dealing with his problems alone. It made him seem harsh, difficult, demanding. I know he often seemed that way to me, at least." Dick's eyes found Barbara in the crowd. Her head was cocked, as if listening to something else, and when she met Dick's gaze her eyes flashed.

"But I can tell you one thing about Bruce—and if you remember nothing else about Bruce Wayne then remember this—he loved Gotham. You all called him Gotham's prince; he thought of himself as Gotham's servant. He had his own way of serving, of course, and we're free to debate his methods, but the fact remains: Bruce loved Gotham. He dedicated his life to this city. I wish he was here now. So does he, I'm sure of it, because for all his love of solitude Bruce could never bear to leave others alone. Bruce didn't want to die. But he was happy, at least, to know he'd made a difference to Gotham."

Barbara's voice suddenly came over Dick's concealed earpiece. "Dick, we have a problem."

Someone tapped Dick on the arm. It was Lucius. He gripped Dick's wrist and leaned in to whisper in his ear, "Richard. That was the police. Tim and Damian have been kidnapped."


	3. Chapter 2: My Brother's Keeper

**Gotham Arise #2  
The Torch part 2: My Brother's Keeper  
**Characters: Tim Drake, Damian Wayne  
Rating: T  
Fandom: preboot DCU with a twist

___Thirsty._

___I'm really thirsty._

___Woah. My head really hurts too._

___Don't open your eyes yet, Tim. Don't move. Not yet._

He was lying on his side on a hard, flat, moving surface. He was still wearing his tuxedo—the bow tie was cutting into his neck. Beneath his trousers he could feel his leg braces, still securely clamped over legs that were supposed to be all but immobile. His crutches were leaning against his side. Behind his closed eyelids, his surroundings were dark.

___So I'm not dead. That's a plus. I guess._

He breathed in. The air was stale and musty, and a sudden lurch caused his crutches to slide off his legs. Some kind of vehicle, then. Over the hum of the engine Tim could hear one other breath beside his own. It was close, and laborious. It sounded like Damian.

Damian had been in the car with him when the gas went off. Tim remembered the sound of the canisters exploding, the sickening, swooping feeling in his stomach as the breath choked in his lungs, Damian's strangled cry as he slammed his fists into the bulletproof window. Tim hadn't thought that car ride could have possibly been worse. Damian's eyes were icy, accusatory, so like his father's. Tim hadn't been able to meet his gaze. Not since—

Tim opened his eyes.

The surroundings looked almost entirely like he'd guessed—a small rectangular space, low-ceilinged and dimly lit. The interior of a truck or large van, most likely. There was a tinted window on one side, which he supposed lead into the front seat, but it was tinted and Tim could see nothing through it.

On the floor beside him lay Damian, flat on his back, his gelled-back hair tousled and his bow tie askew. His mouth was open, his chin jutted out in a pout, his eyebrows drawn.

Tim started toward him, then stopped. Whoever had deposited their unconscious forms in this truck had folded Damian's arms across his chest. He looked like a cadaver in a coffin.

Tim dragged himself back, away from Damian, then tore his eyes away to pound on the tinted glass with his fist.

"Help!"

_Stupid thing to say. Of course they're not going to help. Whoever they are._

He shook his head, then struck the window again. "You out there! What did you do to Damian? He looks like he's dying! Hello! Damian's dying!"

This time the window slid open a crack.

"What's wrong with him?" came a gruff voice.

"He's still unconscious."

"…This is a kidnapping."

"Yeah, I figured," Tim snapped. "Which means you probably want us unharmed, at least for now. So bring us some water and hope that your over-sedating a ten-year-old hasn't given him permanent nerve damage."

The man grunted. But after a moment the window slid open a bit further and a water bottle tumbled through it, then slammed closed again.

Tim scooped it up and dragged himself back to Damian's side, careful to leave his legs limp and useless. He shook Damian's shoulder. "Damian. Wake up."

Damian grunted but didn't wake.

___Whatever they used to knock us out, they used way too much on him._

Damian looked younger up close. Less like Bruce. Tim unscrewed the water bottle top. He took a small sip, his lips barely touching the rim, then slipped a hand beneath Damian's head and lifted him up.

Damian growled thickly at his touch but made no other response. Tim poured a few drops of water into Damian's half-opened mouth; Damian coughed, his brow creasing, but after a few tries he swallowed, and Tim lifted the bottle to his mouth again.

After Damian had swallowed another few mouthfuls Tim set him down again. He loosened Damian's tie, then his own, then poured some water onto his tie and used it to wipe Damian's forehead.

A little shiver passed over Damian's face at the touch. Now he hardly looked like Bruce at all. Damian was so small, even for his ten years. His miniature tuxedo looked almost comical on him. Tim's brow creased as he poured Damian another mouthful of water. It was too much, this time; Damian choked and sputtered, spilling onto his collar.

Tim wiped away the drops with his hand. "Sorry, Damian," he said. "…I'm sorry."

He set Damian down and sat back, twisting so his shoulders rested against the wall, and dropped his head to his hands.

___Were Damian and I kidnapped because we're Waynes, or because we're Robin and Red Robin? Does someone know our secret identities? If so, why did they take us during a Wayne family event? What are they trying to say?_

Tim gripped his hair. It was long, and crunchy with the remains of his hair gel. Tim combed through it with his fingers.

___I could probably kick the van door down. Doesn't look reinforced. But I'd have to use my legs. And my 'injury' is the only thing keeping Vicki Vale from publishing her "Bruce Wayne was Batman" expose. If this kidnapping is really for our Wayne connections, the last thing we need is for Batman to get involved._

___Any more involved than just, say, swooping to our rescue, of course.____Batman swooping to our rescue would be nice._

___Dick might be on his way though._

Tim lifted his head, then dropped it again. His headache seemed to be getting worse. He took another sip of water and dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. ___No way to tell what time it is. Did Dick make it to the park? Maybe Dick was attacked too. He could be captured. Or compromised. Or dead._

Tim shook his head, gripped his hair. ___No, no no__. _"No." ___Not helpful, Tim. Gotta stay focused on escaping. Either Dick's coming or he's not. Plan for both scenarios._

___Does Barbara know what happened yet?____Assuming Barbara and Cass weren't attacked too—and if they were then we're really in trouble. But Barbara's wheelchair is a mobile command center. She might be looking for us right now, no matter where she is. What other agents do we have in the field right now? Oh—_

"Damn it," Tim muttered. "Damn it, Steph."


	4. Chapter 3: Responsible

Gotham Arise #3  
The Torch part 3: Responsible  
Characters: Stephanie Brown, Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon, Cassandra Cain  
Rating: T  
Fandom: preboot DCU with a twist

"Um," said Stephanie Brown. "What did he just say? Did I hear that right?"

She was standing in front of the Batcomputer in the Cave, her head tilted up to take in the enormity of the computer's main screen and the three windowed programs running on it side-by-side: the window on the left was the view from the camera on Barbara's glasses and showed Dick still standing at the podium in Gotham City Park; in the center was the view from the camera hidden in the boutonniere on Cassandra's chest, and showed almost the same image but at slightly more of a distance and with the top of Barbara's head in the foreground; and on the right was the view from the camera hidden in the pin on Dick's lapel and showed the crowd gathered in the garden, in various states of shock. Barbara's red hair stood out like a torch among the black clothes.

Stephanie watched Barbara's lips move through the rightmost camera as in her earpiece she heard:

"Police found Tim and Damian's car pulled over on the side of the road. Driver was unconscious. Boys were nowhere to be seen. That's all the police report says right now. Let's see what the traffic cams picked up."

"I'm on it." Stephanie called up a command prompt on one of the smaller screens, her eyes were still on the three camera feeds occupying the large screen. On the left, Barbara's camera was tilted down to look at the tablet in her hands. Cassandra's camera was still fixed on Dick, and the Wayne Enterprises men surrounding him. Through Dick's camera, Barbara's red hair kept coming in and out of view as the men around him moved and shifted.

"I have it," said Barbara. "Sharing my screen with you."

Stephanie blew out a breath. "Okay then."

"Rewinding—Here it is. Four thirty-four. Half an hour ago."

Both Barbara and Cassandra's cameras were now pointed at the tablet in Barbara's lap. Even though the same data was now streaming across one of the Batcomputer's smaller screens Stephanie looked through their cameras at the footage of a black Wayne Enterprises car driving unsteadily past a traffic camera. The car pulled over, and immediately a white van drove up and parked between the black car and the camera.

"A van picked them up," said Barbara. "I can't see much, but that must be where they went. Van is white, no markings. No signs of a struggle. License plate GA-1939. Running satellite scan for it now."

Stephanie leaped to her feet. "Woo-hoo! It's car chase time!"

"No," Dick's voice interrupted. He hopped off the stage and began pushing his way through the crowd toward Barbara's red head. "Stay put, Stephanie."

"What?' Stephanie was already halfway across the cave to where the Ricochet was parked. "I'm the only available field operative, Dick! Barbara can Oracle it up from her chair, she doesn't need me here."

"We'll go out together when I get back." Dick's voice was low and gruff like a whisper, but from the Batcomputer speakers it echoed through the cave. On the right side of the Batcomputer main screen, his camera feed went dark as someone's shoulder pressed against his. Stephanie could see the person who had bumped him cross the other two camera views, and then Dick appeared on both feeds just as Barbara and then Cassandra came into view on the rightmost camera feed. The four of them—Barbara, Cassandra, the two Dick Graysons—loomed large on the Batcomputer, the light of their faces bathing Stephanie's own in a pale glow as she looked up at the screen.

"The cops will want to question you, Dick," said Barbara, so quietly that even Cassandra and Dick wouldn't have been able to hear her if they hadn't had earpieces. "We have to expect that they're going to treat you like a prime suspect. It might take a while."

"I don't want Stephanie out there alone," Dick said, just as quietly. "I'm responsible for anyone who wears the bat, Babs."

On Dick's camera feed Stephanie saw Barbara's frown. "Even Batman is allowed to depend on others every once in a while."

Dick's eyebrows rose. "I'm sure the hypocrisy of that statement isn't lost on the all-seeing Oracle."

Cassandra's camera view switched to look across the crowd. She had turned away. On either side of the Batcomputer screen Dick and Barbara's faces seemed to fill their windowed camera feeds.

Barbara narrowed her eyes. "I can't tell if it's your Bruce Wayne impression that needs work, or your Dick Grayson impression," she said finally.

Stephanie clapped her hands over her mouth.

"They're here," Cassandra whispered. Reluctantly, Stephanie looked at the middle camera window. Lucius Fox was there, as were several of the Wayne Enterprises board members that had been surrounding Dick. Several police officers now stood with them.

"Dick, listen," Stephanie said quickly. "I've wanted in on a big case for a while now. Got this great speech prepared about how I can do it and why you should trust me and the power of positive thinking. The whole shebang. But we don't have time for that right now. So I'll give you the short version. Ready? _I can do this._"

She stopped, took a deep breath. Neither Dick or Barbara had moved. Their eyes almost seemed to be boring into Stephanie's own as they stared at each other. In the middle camera feed, the police officers were drawing closer.

Finally Dick blew out a breath. "I know you can, Stephanie."  
"Yes! I won't let you down, Dick. Or Tim and Damian."

On the screen, Barbara nodded her head toward the police officers. "They're going to want to question you first," she said.

Dick's face was impassive. "Right. Babs—"

He lifted his hands, extended them toward Barbara. She took them in hers and bent her head, so all that was visible from the leftmost camera feed was her and Dick's clasped hands. From Dick's camera Stephanie could only see the top of Barbara's bright red head. Stephanie looked back to the leftmost camera. Barbara's hands squeezed Dick's, then rubbed as if trying to warm him. Then she squeezed again and let go.  
"You're all set." The camera rose to encompass his face once again.

"Thanks." Dick turned and walked out of the leftmost camera's viewpoint.

"Umm," said Stephanie. "What was _that_?"

"Fake fingerprints," said Barbara. "Dick's real fingerprints don't exist in any database in the world. None of our fingerprints do. But the GCPD thinks it has fingerprints for Dick Grayson on file, ever since Bruce was accused of murder. I just covered Dick's hands in a film that will make his fingerprints match the fake ones on file."

"Oh," said Stephanie flatly. "So you weren't, like holding hands just because?"

"No," said Barbara wryly. The camera twitched in a motion that suggested she was rolling her eyes. "We were not. Also, you realize Dick is still in the loop?"

"Yes," said Stephanie. "So I'm going to make this real easy for the both of you. I'm going after that van. Babs, please send me updates on the van's location when you get them. Dick, play nice with the police. Cass, make sure these two behave themselves. Okay, Batgirl out."

Stephanie hit a button on the keyboard and all three camera feeds vanished as the screen faded to black.

"Geez," Stephanie said aloud. "That was awkward." She strode across the darkened cave to where her Ricochet was parked—and nearly tripped. "Dammit! Why is it so dark in here?"

...

Back at the park, Barbara and Cassandra watched from afar as Dick spoke briefly to a few police officers, and then left the park with them.

"Barbara?" Cassandra said.

Barbara was busy with her tablet again. "Yeah?"

"What was that?"

"What was what?" Barbara said nonchalantly.

Cassandra shot her an impatient glare. "You know."

Barbara sighed and straightened her glasses. "Just continuing a conversation we had a few days ago. The night Tim came back."

"Conversation about what?"

"About what the hell we're doing." Barbara put her tablet away. "Come with me, Cass. We're getting out of here."

Nobody stopped them as they passed the police perimeter. When they reached Barbara's car she tapped her tablet, and a ramp extended from the drivers' side to lift Barbara's wheelchair to the place where the driver's seat should have been.

"Cave or bunker?" Cassandra asked as she slipped into the passenger side.

"Neither." Barbara clipped her wheelchair in place and started the car. "We've got a stop to make first."

"The Needle?"  
"Wrong again." Barbara pulled out of the street parking, her face grim. "What do you know about the Red Hood?" 


	5. Chapter 4: The Lost Boys

**Gotham Arise #4**

_**The Torch part 4: The Lost Boys**_

Characters: Barbara Gordon, Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain

Rating: T  
Fandom: preboot DCU with a twist

_With Bruce Wayne dead, it's up to the ones who once stood in his shadow to take up his torch._

Issue #0: Prologue | Issue #1 | Issue #2 | Issue #3

No matter where you are in Gotham, you're never far from a bad part of town. The patrol car carrying Dick to Gotham Central Police station passed through the Zucco gang's old territory. Stephanie, following the camera trail of the kidnappers' van on her motorbike, passed two drug trade hotspots she knew about and another three she didn't. Even Alfred was less than a mile from a certain corner on Crime Alley when he pulled over on his way back to Wayne Tower after a phone call from Barbara to catch his breath.

For Barbara and Cassandra, the drive from Gotham City Park to the Narrows took less than ten minutes. Now Barbara's green SUV was driving down a dingy street lined with teetering, rickety tenements.

_The best architects describe buildings not with measurements and materials, but with emotions. Angry buildings, inviting buildings, obdurate buildings. Cruel buildings. _

_ I used to think that was a load of crap. _

_ Then I lost the use of my legs._

Now, Barbara thought, as she parked the car in front of a narrow brownstone with steep front steps she had to admit that it was starting to make sense.

_ It's not hard to see a badly designed building as cruel when you can't even walk up the damn front steps._

"We're in the worst part of town," said Cassandra, without affect.

Barbara opened the car door and extended the ramp. "Stay in the car, Cass." She pushed herself down the ramp and her wheels hit the sidewalk with a skidding sound. "I'm going in alone."

A series of muffled thumps echoed through the comm channel. It was Dick, tapping on his earpiece in Morse code because he couldn't talk in front of the police officers: _Where are you?_

"Getting some answers, Dick. Cass, keep an eye on Stephanie." Barbara switched off her comm piece and removed it from her ear.

Cassandra, in the front seat, nodded at her and sat back.

Barbara was relieved. Any of the others—Dick, mostly—would have insisted they accompany her, help her up the stairs, stand by her like a guard dog. But Barbara didn't need that.

_I can be cruel, too._

She pressed a button on her wheelchair arm and the air in her tires began to deflate as the wheels elongated into treads. Another tap and the engine kicked in, moving her up the steps with a muffled whine.

The front door was locked with a simple bolt. Barbara bashed it open with the blunt end of her escrima stick, and rolled inside.

The front hall was dark and dusty. It looked like no one had been inside for months. At the back was a crooked, winding staircase, far too narrow for her wheelchair.

_Cruel, obdurate buildings._

Barbara looked up. The stairs formed a square as they spiraled upward, so Barbara could see the other landings. From the side of her wheelchair she withdrew a grapple gun, and fired it upward.

The grappling hook buried itself into the plaster ceiling with a shower of greyish paint. Barbara tugged on it. It didn't budge. So she wound her end of the line under her arms, clipped the line back onto itself and pressed a button. The wire went taught, then began to pull her upward, burning her skin as it slid beneath her arms. Her teeth gritted, Barbara reached below her to grab her wheelchair and fold it up as the line continued to ascend, pulling her up to the top floor.

Once she was hanging level with the top building, Barbara began to swing her wheelchair back and forth until her whole body was swinging, her legs dangling beneath her. On the next swing she unclipped the grappling cord and swung over the railing onto the top floor.

She landed in a heap, the wheelchair on top of her legs. Barbara hauled it off her, opened it up, and pulled herself back into it.

There was only one door on this landing, a narrow moldy-looking entrance without numbers or distinguishing marks. It seemed fragile on first glance, but Barbara could see the steel beneath the chipped paint, as well as the telltale lumps in the plaster wall that hid a security system.

Barbara rolled up to it and rapped on the door.

"Jason! Are you going to let me in or do I have open this door myself?"

There were a series of rapid clicks, then the door swung open and Jason Todd stood in the doorway. He was wearing cargo pants, a thin, tight tee shirt, and no shoes or socks. He smirked as his blue-green eyes leered at her through the white-streaked black hair falling across his forehead.

"Geez, Barbie, you could have called. I barely had time to get dressed."  
"Or undressed, as the case may be," said Barbara dryly.

Jason grinned as he stepped away from the door. "Please, come in."

Barbara maneuvered her wheelchair just inside the door, but didn't go any further. Jason's apartment was small and sparse. A mattress lay on the floor in one corner, a backpack brimming with guns and another with body armor beside it. Along the opposite wall was a kitchen counter on which a laptop, a satellite router and three external hard drives were piled dangerously close to a protein shake, an open beer bottle, and a glass of water. Jason's red armored helmet lay on a rickety chair next to the barred window, a medkit on the floor beside it and a knife buried in the wall above it. Other than that the apartment was empty.

"I need information, Jason," said Barbara.

Jason's eyes widened in mock surprise. "What would a little old street rat like me know that the mighty Oracle, Mistress of the Internets, does not?"

"You hear things, Hood. Whispers. Cash payoffs. Things that never make it to a computer. So tell me—what's the analogue world saying about Wayne Enterprises these days?"

Jason leaned back against the kitchen counter and crossed his arms over his chest. "I know William Earle didn't like stepping down as acting chairman of W.E. after Bruce was exonerated in the Vesper Fairchild* murder. And I know he's been frequenting some pretty scuzzy bars of late, buying drinks for some even scuzzier people." Jason bared his teeth in a sharp smile. "Maybe you'll find our little brothers in his basement."

"How did you know?" said Barbara quickly.

Jason bared his teeth in a grin. "I've got 'Wayne Family Fuckery' on my Google News alerts."

"Don't we all."

"Gotham Gazette broke the story twenty minutes ago. But maybe I knew about it before even Ms. Vale did. That's why you're really here, isn't it?"

Barbara raised her eyebrows. "Did you?"

"You tell me."

They stared at each other, Jason's face mocking, Barbara's steely and cold.

"Is that all you've got?" Barbara said finally.

Jason shrugged, still grinning. "On Wayne Enterprises? You kidding? Martin Hoopler in accounting is addicted to smack. Jane Petrovna in shipping used to run with a gang called the Black Feathers. Danica Zhao is the only board member with a spotless record. If you piled up W.E.'s collective shit it'd be taller than Wayne Tower, and I know it all. But why should I help you? I got no love for the replacement or the demon's son. Plus that one's an al Ghul, too, and I got a weird history with them—"

"I've helped you in the past," Barbara interrupted coolly. "Maybe you'd want to return the favor."

Jason snorted. "Yeah, buying me fake IDs so you could track my movements, putting me up in hotels full of your spy toys. Some help."

"You still took some of it."

"Yeah, I did. How does it feel to be aiding and abetting a murderer, Barbie?"

"You don't kill nearly as often as you want us to think, Jason."

"Aw, you're right. You've seen right through my tough guy exterior to the hurting little baby bird underneath. Save me, Batmom, save me."

"I don't have time for this," Barbara snapped.

"Too busy dealing with Wayne family fuckery like always, huh?"

"No. I'm dealing with Gotham fuckery. I don't have time for the Waynes'. Or yours." She turned her wheelchair around. "I'll be back if I need you."

She was out the door when she heard it:

"Hey."

Barbara looked over her shoulder. Jason was still leaning against the dingy kitchen counter, but he was no longer grinning. His bare hands gripped the counter on either side of his hips.

"Is it true?" Jason's voice was low and growling, but soft. He raised his eyes to meet hers. "Is he really...dead?"

"...Looks that way."

Jason bowed his head. When he looked up again his face had changed once more—his mouth was tight, his brows contracted over burning eyes.

"You should go now."

Barbara didn't move. "Jason—"

"Get. Out."

She left.

...

"Your tracing program worked," said Cassandra when Barbara rolled back down the front steps and opened her car door. "Stephanie followed the van to an underground parking garage."

"In Gotham?"  
"Yes. Beneath Wayne Tower."

Barbara narrowed her eyes. "Interesting." She leaned forward and started the car. Cassandra was peering out the window, up at the top story window. When Barbara followed her gaze, all she saw was a dark shape moving out of the frame. Barbara put the car in gear. "Has she found the van yet?"

"Haven't heard. Her radio signal cut out when she went in."

"Understandable."  
Cassandra gave Barbara a penetrating stare. "I don't understand," she said finally. "Are the kidnappers from Wayne Enterprises, and overconfident, or are they someone else, and trying to frame a Wayne Enterprises employee?"

"Excellent question, Cass. Now I'm thinking we should head to the Bunker instead of the Cave. What about you?"

"That seems—sensible," said Cassandra. She fell silent, her head bobbing as the car drove over the poorly paved street. "...Why did we stop to see Jason?"

"He got back to Gotham two weeks ago. Seemed a little too convenient."

"You think he's involved with Tim and Damian's kidnapping?"

"Not anymore." Barbara's hands tightened on the wheel. "He's up to something, though."

Cassandra frowned thoughtfully. "He knows you know, now. You tipped your hand."

"Even if Jason's not involved with the kidnapping it seems like too good an opportunity for him to pass up. But now that I've smoked him out he'll be too busy finding a new hidey-hole to mess with us."

Cassandra nodded slowly. "You didn't just eliminate him as a suspect...you eliminated him from the game entirely."

Barbara shot her an approving smile. "You're getting the hang of this detective stuff."

Cassandra smiled—but before she could reply a sudden burst of static blasted out of the car radio, then cut to the sound of an explosion and a high-pitched scream.

"Stephanie!" shouted Barbara as Cassandra cried "Batgirl!"

"Oh crap!" Stephanie's voice blurted from the radio over the sound of crumbling rock. "Oh God! Bomb—blew a hole through the wall. Cement wall. Oh my God,—" she was cut off by a loud, painful cough.

"Stephanie!" said Barbara firmly. "Are you hurt?"

"The car," Stephanie groaned. "Tim and Dami—"

A sudden sharp groan, the voice much deeper than Stephanie's, filled the comm and then fell silent.

"Dick," said Barbara. "Dick, hold on, we haven't confirmed anything yet. Batgirl, can you—"

Stephanie's hacking cough again filled the line. "I'll find them. I—I can't see anything yet—but I'll find them, Dick, I'll find them."

…

In the police station, Dick hadn't moved. He was barely even breathing. But the knuckles of the hand curled around his glass of water were white, and the surface of the water trembled slightly as he squeezed.

"Mr. Grayson? You didn't answer my question."

With an effort, Dick looked up. "I'm sorry, Inspector," he said, his voice even. "What did you say?"

Inspector Harvey Bullock scowled down at him.

"I said, Mr. Grayson, if Damian Wayne and Tim Drake-Wayne are as important to you as you claim, why are the gas canisters used in their kidnapping covered with your fingerprints?

…

_*Vesper Fairchild's murder took place in _Bruce Wayne: Murderer? a_nd _Bruce Wayne: Fugitive_, a storyline that ran through the _Batman_ series and related books in 2002._


End file.
